


Love Like Ghosts

by wingsNbees



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mentions of suicidal tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 23:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14925447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsNbees/pseuds/wingsNbees
Summary: Oh darling, oh darling, our ghosts are the same.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to post this chapter by chapter, and then I said "I'm not about that life."

Steve woke up in a sweat.

The nightmares had been so strong, especially now, waking up in almost seventy years after he’d downed the plane into the ice.

A doctor rushed in, turning on the lights, and he rushed to the bed. “Captain Rogers, is everything alright? We detected a spike in your heart rate.” Steve took a few deep breaths, lowering his heart rate instantly, and he nodded.

“Everything’s fine.”

Once the doctor had gone, Steve lied back down on the hospital bed, wishing that the door to his room was shut so he’d have some privacy.

A few days later, he was released from the hospital, and a SHIELD driver drove him to a quiet apartment just outside Brooklyn. He was given the keys and the door code, and Steve went up to his apartment.

He didn’t feel like telling anyone that he’d prefer his and Bucky’s apartment in Brooklyn.

He wondered for a moment if SHIELD had his personal items – if Peggy had brought them home. Just then, there was a knock at the door, and he opened it carefully. “Captain,” the driver said, “I forgot to give these to you. They’re some of your personal effects – SHIELD held them in a secure facility.” Steve hauled the boxes inside.

There were four boxes – not to mention his shield – and Steve ripped into one. At the top was his Bible, tattered and worn, followed by his books, a notebook, and several sketchbooks he’d smuggled to Camp Lehigh with him.

Tucked under his old army uniform was another book, and Steve picked it up gingerly. He turned it over in his hands, and he almost went to his knees in the middle of this unfamiliar apartment.

_Bucky’s Torah._

The pages were yellow now, showing just how old the book was. Steve opened it, and he was greeted with the faint smell of old cigarettes and cologne. Steve got the slim phone that Fury had given him – this was a phone now?

He knew he needed to find something to eat, but right now, all he could think about was the fact that for him, Bucky had died only a few days ago.

Not the years everyone said it had been.

Steve walked around the apartment, eventually coming to the bedroom. The bed was soft, too soft, when he sat down on it, and he set Bucky’s Torah down on the nightstand beside it.

The tears came hot and fast.

Steve cried into his hands – how could he live like this? How could he go on when there was no one left that he knew?

He fell asleep on the floor, a single sheet around him, the hard floor a comfort.

He woke up to sunlight pouring in through the window. Steve got up from where he’d fallen asleep, and gathered the sheet up, folding it neatly and setting it down on the bed, the pillow following suit. After he’d gone to the bathroom, he washed his hands and looked at himself in the mirror.

There was a hint of stubble along his jaw, and he rubbed his fingers over it. He decided to leave it, and he turned off the light, leaving the bathroom. He was almost to the kitchen when he saw the boxes he hadn’t gone through – and his shield.

He took the shield into his bedroom, propping it up against the nightstand.

Going back out, he pulled one of the boxes over to the couch, and opened it. There was a small box inside, labeled ‘Photos’, and Steve set it aside. Maybe there were some of Bucky in it – he wanted Bucky to be remembered, even if he was the only one who did.

He realized someone from SHIELD – back when it had still been the SSR – had gone to his old apartment, his and Bucky’s place, and had collected everything of theirs when he saw the old wind-up clock from Bucky’s half of the room in the box.

He wondered if they’d found the dirty magazines tucked under his mattress.

Steve opened a large, yellowed envelope labeled _‘SENSITIVE MATERIALS’_ , and he tipped it out. A couple drawings fell out, and Steve felt his throat go dry.

He remembered that night vividly. He’d thought that those drawings had been destroyed – how any had survived being burnt or torn apart was beyond him, unless Bucky had grabbed a few, hiding them under his mattress. That had been the first time Bucky had posed for Steve, in nothing but his underwear.

Steve could still hear Bucky’s father’s voice in his head as if it had happened yesterday.

_“Get outta my house, goddamn queer!”_

Steve could remember Bucky crying, begging with his father, with his mother, to not kick Steve out – his mother was in the hospital and Steve couldn’t live on his own. They were just drawings - how else was Steve supposed to practice?

But it didn’t matter – Steve had been thrown out of the house, his palms getting all scraped up on the pavement. He’d run until he couldn’t breathe, his asthma getting worse and worse until he had to stop and get his inhaler.

Steve looked down at his hands.

There was still a four-inch long scar running down the bottom of his right pinkie to his wrist from being thrown from the house – it had been deep, and the serum had never fully worked on it. He’d bandaged his hand up with shaking fingers that night, telling himself, _don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry_ with each pass of gauze.

All Bucky had done was pose for him, so he could work on life studies – he didn’t have money for classes, not for the fancy ones at Columbia that he needed.

The word still hurt.

Steve went back to his bedroom, dressed, and got his keys. He locked the door behind him and began to walk.

He wound up in Brooklyn, standing outside what used to be the Barnes’ home.

It had been long-since updated, and Steve wondered if the family living there now knew just who had grown up in that house.

Steve turned to leave, and he walked until he realized he wasn’t back at his new apartment, but standing outside the apartment he and Bucky had used to live in.

It was falling apart.

There was a Starbucks next to it now, and Steve figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a coffee before heading home. He got a plain coffee – small, he hoped – and he sipped at it as he walked back outside. If there was one thing he could count on to not change since 1944, it was coffee.

He’d barely gotten two steps out the door when he looked down the sidewalk and saw a girl with hot pink hair lean over and press a kiss to another girl – this one with dark brown hair. They looked so happy, the one girl mock-singing to the other after a few seconds.

Steve was at a loss.

Had the world changed so much since 1944?

It was a stark contrast to when he’d been afraid to even look at Bucky for fear that someone would see and beat him to a pulp.

“Hey, dude,” the one girl said, “you never seen two people kiss before?” Steve realized, suddenly, that he’d been _staring_ as they’d walked closer, and he looked down at the ground.

“Sorry, I just…” Steve’s voice trailed off, and he wasn’t sure of what to say. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stared, it’s gotten me into trouble before.”

“We’re just used to people being dicks about it. But hey, no harm done,” she said, and Steve met her gaze. Her eyes reminded him of Peggy, a little, and for a second, he wished he had her confidence.

“Again, I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool, man.” She looped her arm around the other girl’s, and they wandered off down the sidewalk. Steve cursed himself for staring. He knew better than to stare – the last time, he’d been beaten up outside a dance hall cause the guys didn’t like how he was staring.

It was one thing with Bucky, in the privacy of their apartment, where he could stare all he wanted and he wouldn’t risk being called a queer just because he liked watching Bucky in motion.

Now, it was the 21st century.

Steve went to the library – surprised it was still standing – and he found an open computer. He sat down at it, and he glanced over his shoulder. It was fine, no one was looking at him. He tried to remember what the counselor at SHIELD had shown him, how to open Google, and he typed in the word _‘queer’_ , and hit the search button.

There were seventy-seven _million_ results.

Steve ignored the definition, and clicked on the first link. He read the page, realizing that maybe the word that Bucky’s father had called him wasn’t so bad anymore. He chewed at his lower lip, and he thought about the time Bucky had stepped between him and a bully who’d called Steve a queer and threatened to kill him.

His eyes lit on a section labeled _‘Queer Art’_ and he clicked on it. He didn’t know what he expected – but just a block of text wasn’t it.

Maybe that’s what he could do now, art, the thing he’d had to scrape and save for in the 30s, what he’d wanted to do more than _anything_ before the war broke out. It was easy enough to look again for art classes, and he found a few reasonably priced ones that were in New York City. Looking up art supply stores next, he copied down the information on a pad of paper and closed the browser.

He could almost hear Bucky chiding him, _“What about food?”_

Steve rubbed a hand over his face and began his trek to a subway station.

Four hours later, he was back in his apartment, and he set up the easel he’d bought – the most extravagant purchase of his life, he noted – by the window. Maybe it’d be good to get out of the apartment, to go to the art class, to draw and paint again.

He got the charcoal he’d bought, the pencils, the chalk, and he set up the large drawing pad on the easel. Right now, he knew what he wanted to draw.

He pulled one of the barstools over, setting it up by the easel, and when he’d settled on it, he started to draw, the familiar activity soothing.

He kept on drawing for hours, perfecting the piece, and when he stepped back, he looked down at his hands, covered in charcoal and chalk. He walked to the kitchen sink, and scrubbed them clean, eventually turning to look at the drawing.

He hoped he’d done Bucky’s image justice.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, when Steve woke up from where he’d slept on the floor, he looked at the bed and grimaced a little. Maybe it was time to start sleeping in the bed.

He showered, taking his time to enjoy the hot water.

His stomach growled not even a few seconds after he stepped out of the shower, and he knew he needed to go shopping.

He’d tried eating a pizza the last night, and had immediately thrown it up, the grease not settling well in his stomach. Steve had seen a grocery store on his way out yesterday – he’d been so preoccupied with getting to the library that he hadn’t thought to go back and shop for things he could eat.

Getting a jacket, he left his apartment and walked to the store, loading up a shopping cart with the essentials – milk was more than three dollars now, Steve remembered when he and Bucky could barely afford the ten cents it cost to get two bottles of milk.

Steve couldn’t believe how much more everything was now.

He remembered when he and Bucky had scraped by, barely affording the oatmeal they had for breakfast every single day, because it was a penny, and that was the cheapest thing they could buy from the grocer.

Steve pulled down a canister of dry oatmeal, and looked at the price. Five dollars. Five whole dollars for what would’ve lasted less than a week between him and Bucky in the 30s. Steve supposed because it was just him now, it would last a little longer, but the longer he stood there, the more he began to question even buying the oatmeal.

The biggest shock came when he saw his total at the checkout.

_One-hundred dollars._

Steve took the debit card SHIELD had given him and swiped it on the card reader. Debit, yes. PIN number? 1-9-1-7. Steve smiled at the cashier, a skinny blond guy that reminded him of what he’d been before the serum, thanked him, and began the trip back to his apartment.

He stored the perishable items in the fridge, and set about making a bowl of plain oatmeal.

At least this wasn’t something he needed to keep in the fridge.

There was a knock at the door, and Steve glanced down at his watch. _11:30._ He went to go answer the door, and saw Fury standing there. “Cap. Just coming by to check in.”

Steve opened the door a little further. “Come in,” he said, and he shut the door behind the both of them, going back to the kitchen. “I was just about to make some food, would you like anything?” Steve could’ve kicked himself for offering – everything was so much now, an expense he couldn’t be carefree with.

“I’m good. How was your first day on your own?” Fury looked over at the easel, and Steve nodded.

“It was fine. Got a few art supplies, a couple books.” Steve glanced at the still unopened boxes, and he hoped that someone had put Bucky’s dog tags in one of them. “Haven’t unpacked yet.”

“I see that. I take it shopping was an experience,” Fury said, and Steve looked at the fridge.

“I didn’t realize how much more things were.” Steve couldn’t help but feel like this was an interrogation – he’d seen plenty to know when the subject was being played. “I was thinking about going out today, getting a feel for the city, how it’s changed.”

“That sounds like a good plan.” They stood in silence for a few seconds, and then, Steve crossed his arms over his chest.

“What’s this really about?”

“Like I said, we’re just checking in. Making sure you’re adjusting alright.”

“Director, I may have been in the ice for sixty-eight years, that doesn’t mean I’m not just as sharp as I was. What’s really going on?”

“We did some checking on the names you listed.”

“And?”

“I’ve got that all here,” Fury said, setting a folder down on the counter. “There was one name that popped up in the SHIELD database. Agent Margaret Carter, Peggy. She’s at her family home in Suffolk, England. I can arrange for a jet if you want to visit her.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged.

“When could I go?”

“Whenever you want.”

“Today.”

“It’ll take a couple hours to clear it and get a jet ready, but that shouldn’t be a problem.” Fury turned towards the door. “Be at SHIELD in three hours, and we’ll get you to England.”

“Sir, I don’t have a c-”

“Keys are on the table by the door.”

Two hours later, Steve walked out of his apartment and saw the brand new motorcycle parked in front of it, gleaming in the sunlight.

Ten hours later, Steve was in England.

He rented a car, and drove to the SHIELD-approved hotel, checked in, and began to pace. When it was just dawn, he got the car, and drove to Suffolk, hoping that SHIELD had called ahead of him. When he arrived, he saw a woman standing on the porch, one that shared Peggy’s dark hair and bright eyes.

He turned off the car, and went up to the porch.

“Captain Rogers,” she said, and he nodded. “I’m Carol. I should tell you… my aunt… she’s not the same person you knew. She has Alzheimer’s, and… sometimes she thinks she’s back…” Carol’s voice trailed off. “But she’ll be so happy to see you.”

Steve didn’t know what to expect – he hadn’t seen her in sixty-eight years.

When they walked into the room, Carol walked over to the chair by the window, and said, “Aunt Peggy?”

“Carol, sweetheart,” Peggy’s voice wavered when she spoke. Steve suddenly felt like his feet were lead – he couldn’t do it.

“You have someone here to visit you.”

“Oh?”

“Let me help you up,” Carol said, and she helped Peggy stand. Steve could still see the grace that Peggy had when they’d first met in her slow, shaky movements. “Aunt Peggy, you remember-”

“ _Steve_ ,” Peggy’s voice was soft, and it wavered, but Steve couldn’t help but smile, walking towards her.

“Peggy,” he breathed, and she reached for him.

“Let me see you.” Her hands were soft on his face, she brushed her fingers over his hair, and Steve couldn’t help the tears that finally fell. “No tears, Steve. Not for me.”

“I left you waiting,” Steve said, his voice breaking, and Peggy looked up at him, smiling. He took her hands in his. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Steve stayed the rest of the day until Peggy had an episode – she looked away from him to get her tea and when she turned back, she dropped the cup. “ _Steve_ ,” she said, her eyes going wide, and he felt his heart stop.

This was Peggy now – her brain was failing her.

When Carol came in, and told Steve it would probably be best if he left, he didn’t put up a fight. If he could have Peggy in these short spurts of time, he would take it. It made him feel not alone anymore, like somehow, he could go on living because he knew that Peggy was still in the world.

When he went back to New York a day later, he felt numb.

He’d tried to see Peggy again, but Carol had told him that she was having a long episode, probably triggered by his presence. He’d left the flowers he’d bought her with Carol, and he’d gone to the airport, calling SHIELD and requesting a flight home.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve had become a permanent resident at Avengers Tower.

He flipped through the report Natasha had given him, on Bucky’s – the Winter Soldier’s – last known whereabouts. Sitting down, he tried to at least enjoy the sandwich he’d made himself. Two bites in, he shoved the plate away, and he almost jumped out of his skin when Natasha walked up behind him.

“Not hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Steve, maybe you should let him go.” Steve turned, his eyes setting on her. “Steve, I just meant… he doesn’t want to be found. If he did, don’t you think he would’ve surfaced by now?”

“You don’t know him.”

“And you do? Steve, he’s been this,” Natasha tapped the folder, “for seventy years now. It’s all he knows – what makes you think he’d know you? What makes you think you know him?”

Steve doesn’t speak up, doesn’t tell her about the tears he saw in Bucky’s eyes, how he hesitated.

“Steve. If he wants to be found, we’ll find him.”

“You don’t know that.”

Steve took the folder, and stood from the table. He walked past her, towards the elevator. He jabbed the button for the sixth floor, his private floor, and he put the folder in the suitcase he’d bought a few weeks earlier. _“Captain Rogers,”_ Friday’s voice brought him back to the present. _“Your heart rate has accelerated past normal. I suggest you take things easy.”_

“Friday, this isn’t any of your business.”

 _“Steve,”_ Friday said, _“if you leave this building, I will be forced to contact Mister Stark and inform him that-”_

“I said it’s not your business. It’s not yours, it’s not Tony’s.” Steve couldn’t believe himself – he was mad at an Artificial Intelligence program. He grabbed his shield, the suitcase, and went down to get a car – he’d come back for his motorcycle.

He drove until he’d entered Brooklyn, and he drove down a familiar street.

He parked the car outside an old apartment building, next to a Starbucks, and turned off the engine. He looked up at the second floor, at the stairs leading up to it, and he wondered how it was still standing. There was a large notice on the door that said ‘CONDEMNED BUILDING’, a stark change from the last time he’d stood in front of this building.

He got out of the car, went up to the door, and had laid his hand on the doorknob when someone exited, pushing the door open.

“I’m just saying that this building should’ve been torn down years ago – no investors are coming forward to buy, and it’s just falling into disrepair.” The man talking into his cellphone looked every inch like someone Steve wasn’t going to have a nice encounter with. He went to go inside the building, and the guy turned back around. “Hey, you can’t go in there!”

Steve turned, and he knew he was imposing as-is, but he took steps towards the man and gritted out, “Stop me.” He walked back inside, and the door shut behind him.

“I’m gonna have to call you back, some idiot just went inside it.”

Steve walked down the hallway to the staircase, and he’d stepped on the first step when he heard a voice behind him. “Hey, listen, I’m gonna have to call the cops if you go up there.”

“Try it.”

Steve walked up the stairs, sidestepping the weak spot on the tenth step – it had always been shoddy, and he doubted it had been repaired with the state the building was in. He walked to the front door of the apartment, got a key out of his pocket, and prayed that it would turn the lock.

When the lock clicked, and he opened the door, Steve was hit with stale air.

He went inside, pocketing the key, and he saw the stain in the wallpaper, peeling now from age, and he went into the kitchen. He opened the cupboard, and saw the mismatched glasses there.

Someone – Steve couldn’t remember who now – had broken in and carved the words _‘Die Queers’_ into the wall, and he ran his fingers over it. Bucky had plastered over it, but it was still there.

Steve went into what would’ve been their bedroom, saw the twin beds pushed to opposite sides of the room, and he sat down on his. How this apartment had remained untouched was beyond him – he would’ve thought that it would be rented out countless times since then.

 _SHIELD_ , his mind supplied. SHIELD had probably owned the building, right up until it was exposed that they were in league with Hydra.

Steve looked across the room, at Bucky’s bed, and he remembered suddenly – the magazines. He smiled, standing, and he lifted up his mattress. There they were, in all their glory. Steve picked up the magazines, smiling at the memory of being in the room, waiting for Bucky to return home, trying to get off as quickly as possible to the pictures.

He wondered if Bucky had stashed any magazines under his own mattress.

Suddenly, there was a voice inside the apartment. “Hey, listen man, I called the cops, they’ll be here any second. If you leave, I’ll drop the trespassing charges.” Steve hid the magazines, and he looked around the room once more.

Steve stepped out of the bedroom, and said quietly, “How much do you want for this building?”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. You want this shithole?”

“How much?” Steve walked across the apartment.

“It’s your funeral. I’ll let it go for a hundred thousand.”

“I’ll take it.” The guy raised his eyebrows. “Look, it’ll be a little bit to get the money, but I’ll give you my car as collateral.” Steve could see that the guy wasn’t going to be swayed so easily. “Please. I’ll get the money.”

-o-

“And what _exactly_ am I buying a condemned building for?”

“Tony,” Steve breathed out, “just buy the building.” Tony sighed. He knew that Steve was stubborn at the best of times – the way Steve’s eyes were, wild with emotion, he knew that Steve had to not be thinking clearly. What could he possibly want with a worn-down building?

“Before I write the check, I want to see the building.”

Steve felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

When he and Tony arrived at the building, Tony raised his eyes at the car parked outside. “So that’s what happened to my Jeep.”

“Sorry.”

Tony looked up at the building, took his sunglasses off, and looked over at Steve. “It’s a hole.”

“I know. Just. Please.”

“What’s so special about it?” Steve looked down at the ground. “Before I sink my money into what I can guarantee you is a waste of time, I want to know what is so damn special about this building.”

“Follow me,” Steve said, walking up to the door. He opened it, and held it open for Tony. When they were inside, he walked towards the stairs. “Be careful, the tenth step is weak on the left side.” Tony watched as Steve side-stepped it, and he followed suit.

“If you’ve brought me here to kill me-”

“I just want to show you something.” Steve unlocked the apartment door again, and went inside, propping the door open. Tony watched as Steve cross the apartment, going towards what he could only assume was the bedroom, and he followed, standing in the doorway.

“Cap, I should let you know, I’m flattered, really, but I’m not about to lose my gay virginity to you in a condemned b-” Tony’s voice cut off and then, he said, softly, “This was your apartment.”

“They’re tearing it down in a week unless someone buys it.”

“Steve, this place is-”

“A shithole. I know.” Steve looked Tony in the eyes. “But it’s home.”

“Wow, language,” Tony said, and he watched as Steve walked to the kitchen. “Alright. I’ll buy the building, if – _if_ – you make me a promise.”

“Anything.”

“When Barnes surfaces, and he will, I get thirty minutes alone with him.”

“What will you do to him?” Steve was hesitating now.

“I want to know if he killed my parents.” Steve looked down at the floor. He could tell Tony now – the truth – and maybe Tony wouldn’t hurt Bucky.

“Tony, I…” Steve’s voice trailed off. “You have to promise me you won’t… you won’t kill him if he did.” Steve could hear Tony exhale heavily. “Promise me, and I’ll agree to it.”

“I know what finding Barnes means to you. And I know that… I know that I can’t forgive him if he killed my parents. I won’t kill him.” Steve looked down at the ground. “We’ll draw up a contract at the Tower, if it makes you feel better.”

There was a noise in the hallway, and Steve heard the voice of the guy from earlier. “Hang on, there are people back here again. Listen, if I have to call the cops _again_ ,” he started, and then, Tony and Steve left the apartment. The guy’s face paled instantly. “I’ll call you back.”

“Hi, this building’s for sale, right?”

“Uh, yeah, but it’s a-”

“I know,” Tony said smoothly. “Here’s the thing. Your price was what, a hundred thousand?” Tony walked over to the guy and said, “You and I both know this building is on its last leg. I’ll buy it for fifty, if you leave the original hardware in place.”

“Look, this building’s a shithole, but I can’t let it go for fif-”

“Fifty or no deal.”

Steve couldn’t quite tell what Tony’s game was. He knew the building was worth at least four times that price, if it was fixed up nice. “Deal,” the guy said, and Tony replied,

“Great. Why don’t we go on down to the bank and sign over the building, I’ll be putting it in my friend’s name, and we tell no one about this?”

Before Tony left with the guy, who seemed to be suddenly glued to his phone again, Tony turned towards Steve and pressed a slip of paper in his hand.

“Take the hundred thousand and put some work into this place. It needs it.” Steve looked down at the paper, and realized suddenly it was a check for the money he’d asked for.

Now all he had to do was renovate the entire building.

It turned out to be harder than he’d thought.

Bringing the wiring and plumbing up to code was one thing – Steve found out that he was so out of his depth with it, but he wanted more than anything to live here, in the first apartment he’d shared with Bucky.

The entire lower floor he turned into a gym.

The top floor transformed slowly into a studio – the open space filling with natural light. Steve decided, as soon as the floors were in, that he could spend every second of his free time there if he wanted.

And then, when they started work on the second floor, in the apartment that Steve wanted so desperately to keep as close to the original as possible, they began to replace the floors when Steve came in one day to find the contractor he’d hired bent over a hole in the floor.

“Did you know this existed?” Steve looked where he’d pulled up a section of floor, and he looked in it. All his sketchbooks – back from before the war – were tucked neatly in the floor, stacked there with care, as if someone hadn’t wanted them disturbed until they returned for them. “I can have them thrown out, they’re probably-”

“No, I’ll keep them.”

He thought he’d lost these.

He tried to remember if he’d done this, but when he drew a blank, he realized that Bucky had to have hidden all the sketchbooks. He carried them carefully, up into the top floor of the building, and laid them out on the floor. The earliest one was from 1928, back when they’d been just kids.

He set about ordering them oldest to newest, and picked up the one that had ‘1934’ scrawled in the cover’s corner. Opening it, he saw that pages had been torn out, and he remembered when that had happened.

He knew what they’d been of.

He traced his fingers over the jagged edges of paper.

_“Get outta my house, goddamn queer!”_

Steve knew he had to have burned those drawings, probably right in front of Bucky. He also knew he had two of them, the only two that Bucky could save.

The next time he’d been at Bucky’s house, Steve had sat so far away from Bucky.

But then, night came, and he left, but he hung around the back of the house, listening as Bucky’s father yelled and yelled. Steve had filled up the rest of the sketchbook at home that night, trying to remember how Bucky had looked in the original drawings.

When Steve went back down to the apartment below, he took a look around before giving the okay on the final floor plan.

He hoped that this would be everything he’d wanted.

It had to be.


	4. Chapter 4

“Captain Rogers,” the doctor started, and Steve frowned.

“Steve is fine.”

“Alright, Steve. Why don’t we get started?” Steve didn’t like this at all. He was fine – he wasn’t about to jump off a building. “Tell me what happened in Lagos, with Rumlow.”

The doctor was nice – he had a warm smile and kind eyes. He didn’t make his office seem clinical, there were photos of his family over almost every inch of the space, his diplomas and awards tacked up on the wall behind his desk almost like an afterthought.

What was his name?

Right, Adam.

“Steve, we aren’t going to get very far if you don’t open up to me.”

“It was nothing,” Steve finally said, softly.

“You mentioned in your report that during hand-to-hand combat, he taunted you by using your friendship with James Barnes to distract you.” Adam closed the folder in his lap, and he watched as Steve picked at his nails. “Steven.”

“I got distracted. That’s not Earth-shattering.”

“Alright, so why don’t we go back further? Tell me about…” Adam flipped through the folder. “December twenty-seventh, nineteen-forty-three.” Adam watched as Steve froze. When Steve made no move to say anything, he said, “No? Alright, tell me about the day before.”

Steve stayed quiet.

“Steven. Tell me about the day before.” Adam sighed when Steve still didn’t talk. “Steve. I know this is hard for you. But I can’t diagnose you unless you _talk_ to me.” Steve’s gaze was glued to the floor. “Alright, tell me about this.” Adam slid a photocopy of something towards Steve, and finally, Steve looked at something other than the floor. He watched as Steve’s lips parted a little, and finally, Steve looked up at him.

“Where did you get this?”

“It doesn’t matter. Tell me about why every drawing I’ve seen of yours from the past few months have all centered on the same thing?” Steve’s eyes were dark, and Adam knew he’d struck a nerve. “Is this how you see yourself? A broken shell of the man you used to be?”

“You don’t know a thing about me,” Steve said, standing from the chair.

“I know you were born on July fourth, nineteen-nineteen, to Sarah and Joseph Rogers. I know that you and one James Barnes were almost arrested in nineteen-thirty-nine for, and I quote, ‘Public Indecency’. I take it that had a different meaning back then. Steve, I see cases like yours all the time – you’re not the first person to suffer silently, and you won’t be the last.” Adam flipped through the folder. “You want me to be a shrink, fine. Sit down, and I’ll tell you what I think.”

Steve sat down reluctantly.

“You’re a soldier. You constantly and consistently fight for your country, and what you believe is right. You only ever lost one person in the line of duty – your childhood friend. From the reports, I’d say he was more than that.” Adam watched as Steve’s gaze went to the floor again. “You’re suffering from severe Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which is leading to anxiety and depression. You’ve already exhibited suicidal tendencies.”

“I’m not suicidal.”

“I have a confirmation from Agent Romanov from after the SHIELD-sanctioned sting on the ship Lumerian Star that says, and I quote directly, ‘Captain Rogers proceeded to jump from the jet without a chute.’” Adam looked at Steve. “Any jump from over five-thousand feet, if the landing was not perfect, would result in a neck being snapped clean in half. But you know that.”

Adam watched as Steve tapped his fingers on the couch, continuing to not meet his gaze. “Steve. Talk with me.” When Steve didn’t say anything, Adam sighed. “I’m trying to help you, Steve. What I need from you is for you to talk with me.” Steve very pointedly didn’t look up, but something in his posture changed, and he said, softly,

“How many patients of yours have lost people in combat?”

“Dozens.” Adam watched as Steve blinked, slow, as if he was tired, and he knew he needed to try a different approach. “Tell me about him. James Barnes.”

“Bucky.”

“Tell me about him. What’s he like?” Adam watched as Steve looked up, confusion in his eyes. “Steve. Tell me what Bucky is like. What’s special about him?”

Steve exhaled heavily. “Look, I don’t get why this is important. Bucky was my best friend.”

“You and I both know that’s not everything.” Adam tossed the folder down on the floor. “What’s your favorite memory of him?” Adam watched as Steve thought about that, and then, Steve replied,

“We’d just moved in to our apartment, and… Bucky had just finished unpacking.” Steve couldn’t help the smile that washed over his face. “He’d set up this little radio he’d gotten for cheap, I think it got about… three stations on it. I couldn’t do much – but he didn’t complain.” Steve lowered his gaze for a moment, the memory stinging when he realized that he’d never get moments like that with Bucky again.

_1937_

The radio hissed as Bucky tuned it.

Steve watched as Bucky bit his lip in the slightest frustration as he fiddled with the radio, adjusting the antenna until it hit on a station with music. “Steve,” Bucky said, and Steve looked over at him.

“What are you doin’, Buck?”

“Come here,” Bucky said, wiggling his fingers towards Steve. Finally, after a few seconds of Bucky smiling at him in that way that made his knees weak, Steve got up from where he was sitting at the table. Bucky turned the radio up a little more, and Steve smiled as he realized what Bucky was doing.

“Buck, you have an early morning at the docks.”

“So?” Bucky held a hand out towards Steve, and he said, softly, “Dance with me.”

“I’m not a dame,” Steve said, staring at Bucky’s hand.

“Didn’t say you were,” Bucky replied, easy as that, and Steve finally took Bucky’s hand. Steve knew that Bucky knew how to dance, but as they swayed together, Steve knew that this wasn’t the sort of dancing Bucky did when they went out on failed double dates.

Bucky’s fingers were wound through his, his right hand light on Steve’s lower back.

But there was something about how Bucky’s fingers on his right hand were bunching up Steve’s too-big shirt, reeling him in closer. Bucky pressed his face down into Steve’s shoulder, and Steve felt like his heart was going to hammer right out of his bony chest.

“Buck,” he whispered, “’m not a dame.”

“I know,” Bucky whispered, his breath warm on Steve’s neck.

“We’ll get caught.”

“’s our place, we won’t,” Bucky said softly, and his hands moved to run up Steve’s sides, pushing his suspenders down over his shoulders. “I’ll lock the door, we can do whatever we want now.”

Bucky’s lips on his took Steve’s breath away.

_Present Day_

Steve looked down at the floor.

He’d never told anyone that story – what he and Bucky had done that first night on their own.

Adam watched as Steve blinked, his eyes wet with tears, and he pushed a box of tissues towards Steve. “I think it tells a lot about a person based on other people’s memories of them.” Adam watched as Steve took a handful of tissues and he nodded. “You see Bucky as a separate individual from the Winter Soldier. They may share a face, but you can differentiate between the man and the weapon Hydra created.”

“Why does no one else?”

“They don’t have your experiences. You were given the experience to be close with him, to grow up with him and fight alongside him. You know that he, as Bucky, cannot be rightly judged for his actions as the Winter Soldier, because they stripped away everything that was good inside him to create a weapon.”

Steve wiped a tissue over his eyes. Tears still clung to his eyelashes, and he wiped at them again.

“To you, Bucky is your home. Everything could burn to the ground, but as long as the two of you were together at the end, it would be okay. You became reckless when he was taken from you in 1943, and again just a year ago. He’s your constant, and while a constant is a good thing to have, it can also be a danger.”

Adam watched as Steve grabbed another handful of tissues.

“Do you think you rely too heavily on him?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“If you had the chance to leave now, to go with him to anywhere in the world, would you? Would you walk away right now?”

Steve exhaled shakily, and he said, “I’d give up everything if it meant we’d both be safe.”

“And if that was threatened?”

Steve hated how that question made him feel. He felt angry, something dark surging up inside him that he didn’t think he was capable of. The thought he had in that moment was poison, but Steve couldn’t help it.

“I’d kill everyone that stood in my way.”


	5. Chapter 5

Steve grabbed for his shield.

There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to protect Bucky – especially not now.

He slammed it down into Tony’s mask – once, twice – and then he ripped it away. All he could think was, _He tried to kill Bucky. He tried._ Steve raised his shield over his head. He knew he needed to stop Tony – now more than ever – but he hesitated at the last second.

He looked down, and he realized that he couldn’t kill Tony.

He couldn’t kill Howard’s son.

He slammed the shield into the chest reactor, and he panted heavily, from the exertion, but also from the knowledge that if he hadn’t seen Howard’s face in Tony’s at that moment, he would’ve killed him. Steve collapsed, falling to the side, catching himself on the concrete pillars.

He wrenched the shield from Tony’s chest, and he stared at the gash it had left in the armor.

He’d done that.

Steve felt like he was going to throw up. He’d hurt Tony – he’d almost killed him. He walked to Bucky, helped him to his feet, and wrapped Bucky’s arm around his shoulders.

“That shield doesn’t belong to you,” Tony said, and Steve turned away, Bucky’s hand curling against his uniform. “You don’t deserve it,” Tony continued, and Steve blinked back tears. “My father made that shield!”

Steve looked up, realizing just how heavy the shield was.

Maybe the shield was his curse.

He could imagine Howard, standing in front of him, looking at him with disapproving eyes, and Steve knew he couldn’t do this anymore.

The shield dropped to the ground with a clang.

He helped Bucky up the ladder, and they began their walk back to the Quinjet.

They’d got almost all the way to it when Steve saw someone standing beside it. As they got closer, Steve recognized T’Challa, standing there, his helmet tucked neatly under his arm. “Captain Rogers,” he said, and Steve couldn’t help but feel wary.

“Your highness.”

“Zemo has been captured. I offer you my deepest apologies for what happened in Bucharest, Sergeant Barnes.” Bucky slipped from Steve’s grip a little, and T’Challa reached forward to help steady him. “Come, this way. You both need medical attention.”

The three of them made their way to a spot around the back of the building, and Steve looked up at the jet that was waiting for them. They boarded, and T’Challa looked towards the pilot. “Okoye, contact Agent Ross and inform him that we are bringing Zemo to him.”

“And these other colonizers?”

“Tell him nothing.”

The pilot – Okoye – clearly rolled her eyes, and began to contact Agent Ross.

Steve couldn’t help but fall asleep – he was exhausted – and it was only when they were entering Wakanda that T’Challa woke him.

“Captain. We’re entering Wakanda now.”

Steve watched as Okoye piloted the jet towards what appeared to be a mountain. He felt a bubble of panic rise up in his throat, and then, the mountain disappeared, revealing a flourishing country below. The second the jet landed, and Steve was out, Bucky wrapped around him, they were ushered into a lab.

He looked around, and watched as a girl – who couldn’t be older than eighteen – walked over to them. “You must be Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes. I’m Shuri, I’ll be in charge of creating a new arm for you, Sergeant Barnes.” Steve instantly liked her – she didn’t treat Bucky like he was a villain, or like he was any less of a person because he lacked an arm. “Follow me.”

Steve and Bucky went up a staircase, and Steve watched as she held up a few caps for Bucky’s shoulder. “This should fit, let’s see.” She attached it, covering the metal and exposed wiring, and Bucky looked down at it, surprised at how light it was.

“What’s it made from?”

“Carbon fiber fused with Vibranium.”

“Vibranium?” Steve echoed, surprised. He’d thought the only Vibranium in the world had been made into his shield. “I thought-”

“My father told us that when he was a child, Howard Stark petitioned Wakanda for a small amount of Vibranium. In exchange, he was not to tell anyone where he procured the metal or that there was any more,” T’Challa said from behind them. “If it fell into the wrong hands…” T’Challa watched as Shuri quickly scanned both Steve and Bucky. “Let’s just say that wars would have ended far differently.”

“I’ll have to design a replacement kneecap for you, Sergeant,” Shuri said. “And as for you, Captain, we’ll need to start work right away to repair your broken ribs.”

“What about what Hydra did to Bucky?” Steve asked, and Shuri replied,

“I’ve looked into the procedures they did. It should be easy to repair the damage, but it will take time.”

-o-

Steve watched as Shuri worked.

She’d removed over eighty percent of the damage in just three days.

“Captain?”

“Steve, please.”

“Steve,” Shuri said, “I’ll be bringing him out of cryostasis in about… ten minutes. He’ll need a familiar face to help him adjust.”

“Are you sure?”

Steve hadn’t intended on being here for this. Bucky didn’t need him messing him up more.

“I’m sure. It will help his healing.”

And just like that, Steve knew that she knew better than him. “How are the designs for his new arm coming?”

“I have a few in the works. It will be made of Vibranium, just like your shield was. Speaking of which…” Shuri turned from her workstation, and held out a small disc to him, attached to a wrist piece. “Tap the middle, and it becomes a shield. I designed it to match your original one.”

“Thank you,” Steve managed. He put it on, and tapped the middle of the disc. Instantly, a shield appeared over his arm, but instead of it being red, silver and blue, it was red, silver and black. “I thought you said it matched my original shield.”

“I meant your original shield,” Shuri said, nodding towards Bucky.

Steve remembered, suddenly, that there was a red star over Bucky’s left arm.

A red star, just like in the center of this shield.

He tapped the center of the shield again, and it went back down to the disc it had been.

“Alright, I’m beginning the cryostasis reversal now.”

Steve watched as Bucky woke up, slowly becoming more and more aware of things around him. He’d looked towards Steve, and Steve saw that there wasn’t a blank stare behind those eyes anymore. When the doors opened the cryotube, Bucky smiled, and said softly, “Steve.”

“Hey, Buck.”

“Is it done? How… how long…”

“Just a few days, if you can believe it.”

Steve watched as Bucky stepped down from the cryotube, and he looked like he was searching his thoughts for a while when he said, “They’re gone. They’re really gone.”

T’Challa watched from the stairs as Bucky smiled at Steve, hugged him, and then, Shuri said, “How are you feeling?”

Bucky replied softly, and T’Challa watched as Steve’s hand settled on Bucky’s lower back, like it belonged there. He wondered for a moment, just how close the two were, why Steve would give up everything to save Bucky, to have him be safe.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve watched as Bucky laid back on the bed.

“Oh my god, Steve, this bed is so comfortable.” Steve laughed.

“Don’t get used to it, remember, we aren’t supposed to even be here.” Steve sat down on the bed, and he added, “We’re moving to another house tomorrow.”

“I know, but this _bed_ , Steve.”

Steve smiled to himself. Bucky sounded like he had before the war, and it was so different.

“Are you okay, Steve?”

“Yeah, fine, Buck.” Steve couldn’t help but think about his words when he’d talked to Adam. _I’d kill everyone that stood in my way._

He’d almost killed Tony.

“You don’t look fine, what’s wrong?” Bucky sat up, wrapping his arm around Steve. “You can tell me.”

“I almost killed Tony,” Steve said. “And all I could see was Howard, staring at me, as if I was some massive disappointment.”

“You didn’t kill him, Steve.”

Steve was quiet for a long time, and then, he said, “I wanted to.” Bucky didn’t know if his hand on Steve’s shoulder was enough. “I’m a monster.”

“Steve, no,” Bucky said, getting off the bed and kneeling in front of Steve, his hand going up Steve’s side, pulling him in close. “You’re not a monster.”

“You didn’t see it.”

“Steve,” Bucky whispered, sliding up Steve’s legs. He kissed up Steve’s neck, and he whispered, “you’re not a monster.” Bucky peppered Steve’s skin with kisses, taking his time before kissing Steve on the lips.

It was a strange sensation, when Bucky kissed him.

When Steve had kissed Sharon, it hadn’t felt like this. It hadn’t felt like this was everything in the whole world and he wanted to dissolve into it.

There was a part of him that was screaming that this wasn’t what he was supposed to want – he wasn’t supposed to want Bucky, not like this, they were _friends_. Steve stamped that part of his mind down. This was Bucky – they’d kissed before.

It was just like when they’d practiced back when they were teenagers, behind Bucky’s house on Saturdays when his family came back from the Synagogue. It was just like when they’d moved into their apartment, and they’d danced to the radio.

But they’d never kissed with this sort of intensity.

Not like this.

Steve knew that Bucky could sense his hesitation, and he pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

“What are we doing?”

“Steve, I… we’re kissing.”

“I mean…” Steve stood, and Bucky saw how his shoulders were raised a little. “What comes after this? We’ve never… we haven’t… we just…” Bucky stood, walking over to Steve. “I can hear your dad’s voice in the back of my head, calling me a queer and I just…”

“I remember that.” Bucky ran his fingers through Steve’s hair. “It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything.”

“Buck,” Steve started.

“No, it’s okay. I can wait.” Bucky kissed Steve, short and sweet, and he whispered against Steve’s lips, “Until you’re ready.”

When Steve fell asleep, Bucky looked down at him. He pulled his fingers through Steve’s hair, trying to forget what Steve had said not even an hour ago.

_I’m a monster._

How could Steve see himself like that?

Bucky knew different, he knew that Steve wasn’t a monster - he was everything good in the world. Bucky looked around the room, and whispered,

“We’ll be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love short chapters.
> 
> ...
> 
> Not.


	7. Chapter 7

When Bucky woke up, Steve was gone.

In his place was a note, saying he would be back, and not to worry.

Bucky got out of bed, and began moving around the house. They’d made a nice, quiet life for themselves, here in Wakanda. It had been a couple years since the events in Moscow, and Bucky felt like he was finally back on his feet.

They’d had an agreement, ever since that first night, that they would wait to take the plunge until Steve was ready.

Bucky went to go make coffee and was about to grab the coffee grounds down from the cupboard above the sink when he saw that a pot had already been made – not too long ago, either.

Bucky poured himself a cup and added in sugar.

He went to go sit by the window overlooking the city, and he saw that Steve had cleaned up a little before he sat down. Steve had left his sketchbook open next to the window, and Bucky set down the coffee mug on the end table there, picking up the sketchbook. The drawing it was open to was of Bucky, sprawled out over the bed, looking so comfortable.

Bucky smiled, closed the sketchbook, and wondered what Steve was getting up to that day.

He finished his coffee, stretched, and was going to rinse out the cup in the kitchen sink when he saw the dishes neatly placed in the drying rack, a rose placed almost precariously on top of them.

Well.

That was one less thing he had to do today.

Bucky went to the laundry room, and huffed when he saw the neatly folded and stacked piles of clothes – did Steve get up at dawn just to do all this?

Bucky picked up the rose from the top of the pile.

Bucky put the dishes away first, letting the familiar activity take the place of the worry about where Steve was. He put the laundry away, and he stepped back from the closet to grab another shirt when he saw something in the bottom of it.

Sketchbooks.

There had to be at least twenty, maybe thirty, neatly filed into a cardboard box.

How had he not seen these before?

Bucky chose one at random, and he looked at the cover. Steve had always written the date on the cover, so he could keep track of when he needed to save for a new one. It had been a system that worked _sometimes_.

He flipped through the sketchbook until he came to a section where the pages had been ripped out.

He tried to remember what had happened, why Steve had ripped the pages out, and then, the memory hit him like a freight train.

_1932_

“Yeah, that’s good, Buck.”

Bucky watched as Steve’s pencil flew over the page. “Hey, Steve.”

“Hm?”

“You know those magazines, the ones under my mattress?” Steve looked up at Bucky for a moment, and then back at the page, his pencil staying in one spot for a long time before he said,

“Don’t tense up, it’s ruining your lines. And what about them?”

“I was just… wondering if… you maybe thought about drawing people like that.” Steve almost choked, and Bucky nearly dropped his pose. “You alright, Stevie?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I, uh. You want me to draw you like… like that?” Bucky kept his eyes forward, but he knew Steve had blushed hard.

“If you want to. I’m game,” Bucky replied, and he looked to see Steve look up at him. Steve flipped to a new page, and Bucky asked, “How do you want me?”

An hour passed. Steve drew Bucky, pretending like this was totally normal, pretending like he wasn’t affected by this. Steve had a small collection of drawings now, and Bucky was getting bolder. “Wait,” Steve said, as Bucky hooked his fingers in his underwear to pull them down. Bucky had figured that all those stuffy artists drew people in the buff all the time, so should Steve.

Bucky looked at Steve, his head ducked down, and then, Steve said, “Don’t move.”

Steve drew him, standing like that, his fingers pulling down his underwear and looking at Steve like he was the only thing in the world.

And Bucky supposed he was.

Steve finally turned to a new page, and said, softly, “Go ahead.”

Bucky had just started to pull his underwear down when the door opened. “James, Ste-” Bucky’s father was standing in the doorway, and Bucky quickly pulled his underwear back up. “Steven, get out of my house.”

“Dad, no, it’s not like that, I was just-”

“Put your clothes on, James.”

“Dad, I-”

“I told you to get dressed, James Buchanan Barnes.” Steve was frozen in place. All he’d been doing was drawing Bucky. But he knew those last few drawings were too much, they revealed too much, but he was frozen, he couldn’t even move to close the sketchbook. “You deaf, boy? Get out of my house.”

Bucky watched – horrified – as his father lifted Steve up and took him downstairs. He pulled on his pants and his shirt quicker, racing after them. “Dad, please! Don’t do this, he doesn’t have anywhere to go, his mom’s in the hospital, he can’t- he can’t-”

“JAMES!” His father thundered. “Go to your room and _stay there_!”

Bucky watched as his father took Steve by the collar and threw him out of the house, out the front door.

“Get outta my house, goddamn queer!”

“Dad, stop, please don’t do this,” Bucky was sobbing, his voice breaking. “Momma, please, please-”

“Winnie, take Rebecca to her room.”

“George, what-”

“Take her to her room.” Bucky ran to his own room, knowing he wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t attempt to save the sketchbook. He tore two of the pages out, then three… four… Bucky ripped the pages out and shoved them into his pillowcase, hiding them from his father. The door banged open, and he yanked the book from Bucky’s hands.

“Did that queer touch you?”

“Dad, he’s not… he’s not a-”

“Did he touch you?”

“No! He was just practicing life studies, I offered to-” Bucky knew he’d said the wrong thing when he was slapped across the face.

“You are not to see that boy ever again, you understand me?” Bucky nodded, tears filling his eyes. He saw his father take the sketchbook and open it, flicking through the pages.

“Dad, please don’t-”

Bucky watched as his father went through the sketchbook. “Where are the drawings?”

“I-I-I don’t know, I-” Bucky watched as his father closed the sketchbook. “Please don’t- dad, I-”

“You’re grounded for a month. And don’t expect to see this ever again!” He shook the sketchbook in his hand, slammed the door behind him, and Bucky felt the tears fall down his face. It was almost an hour later when his mother knocked on the door to his room, and she opened it cautiously.

“James?”

“Just leave me alone.”

“James, I know you’re upset. Tomorrow, when you’re at school, give this back to Steven,” she said, revealing the sketchbook, hidden under her apron.

_Present Day_

Bucky sat back against the bed, clutching the sketchbook to his chest.

They hadn’t even done anything.

He could remember feeling like if they hadn’t been interrupted, maybe, but… they hadn’t done anything.

By the time Steve returned home that night, Bucky had formed a plan, but he’d need help putting it into action.

-o-

Bucky couldn’t believe the box had still been there.

Now, holding it in his hands, he felt pride at his eighteen year-old self for storing the drawings in the box and burying it late one night, where he was sure his parents wouldn’t find it.

He opened the lid of the metal box, and there they were.

All of Steve’s drawings.

“Is it what you wanted?” Okoye asked him, and he smiled.

“Yes.”

Bucky waited until she’d gone, and he spread the drawings over the bed. Every drawing he’d ripped from the sketchbook was there. Now all he needed was Shuri to help him.

He put the sketchbook in the box, along with the drawings, and he left the house, calling Shuri and letting her know he’d be there within the hour.

When he arrived, she didn’t even glance up from her workstation, where she was tinkering with the wiring of a metal arm. “Bucky,” she greeted him. “What can I help you with today?”

“A special project. I… I wanted to surprise Steve.”

She looked up from the arm, and smiled wide. “You’ll be full of surprises today, then. I was just putting the finishing touches on this,” Shuri said, gesturing to the arm. “You can try it on as soon as the last of the metal is attached. Now, let’s look at your project.”

Bucky was surprised that Shuri told him, not even ten seconds later, that it wouldn’t be a problem to fix the sketchbook.

He watched as she worked on the sketchbook, the pages seeming to knit themselves back together.

“How is that done?” Bucky asked, and she replied,

“Nano-molecular technology. It binds the molecules of the paper back together.” Shuri turned to the arm. “Now, let’s get this on.”

The Vibranium arm was light.

Bucky couldn’t believe it at first – it felt like a natural, flesh and blood arm, except it was black, gold lines separating the plates of Vibranium. “Good, now I’m going to attach the nerves-” Bucky flinched at the first connection, the pain unbelievable for just a few seconds.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“And… done. Wiggle your fingers for me.”

Bucky watched as his fingers moved, and she nodded. “Good. Now make a fist.” Bucky couldn’t believe how receptive this new arm was. He touched part of the table, and he realized that he could _feel_ the material underneath the metal fingertips. Shuri must have seen the shock on his face, and she asked,

“What is it?”

“I can feel things with it. The other one, I…”

“I took slightly more care than a group of racists,” Shuri said. “I connected your nerves using a micro-cellular regeneration technique. You’ll have about… ninety percent of feeling in most of your hand, and anywhere from fifty to eighty percent in your arm.”

“That’s…”

“Higher than you expected me to say? I know.” Shuri turned, getting the repaired sketchbook, and she handed it to him. “Let me know how everything works out,” she said, getting a smile on her face that clearly said, _I know how this will work out._


	8. Chapter 8

Steve opened the door to the house, expecting to see Bucky sitting by the window, reading a book, like he usually did.

But the chair was empty, and Steve could hear someone in the kitchen. He shrugged out of his jacket, and hung it up on the hook behind the door. He walked into the kitchen, and stopped dead in his tracks.

There was Bucky, going around the kitchen, and-

“Steve? You okay?”

“Your… your arm…” Steve said, and Bucky smiled.

“Shuri finished up the last adjustments today.” Bucky checked the food he was cooking, and Steve watched as he nodded to himself.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Good for you, I love surprises,” Steve said, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “I’ll go get changed.”

“Do that,” Bucky said, almost absently, and Steve smiled when he saw Bucky check the food again.

When he came back out of the bedroom, he was quickly ushered to the table, and he asked, “So when do I get to find out what you’ve been making?”

“Right now,” Bucky said, getting their plates from the kitchen.

Steve watched as Bucky set the plates down, and he began to laugh. “Only you would make _hotdogs_ for a candlelit dinner.”

“You’re forgetting, Steve, you were always the cook between us. I could burn water.”

“Right, that is true.”

They ate in almost silence, Bucky thinking about the sketchbook, how he’d wrapped it in plain brown paper and hid it away in the cupboard. When they’d finished, Bucky collected their plates and took them into the kitchen. He deposited them in the sink, and he got out wine glasses, filled them with white wine – red gave Steve headaches – and he carried them into the dining room.

“Take these into the living room?”

“Where are you-” Steve started, but Bucky had already disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Just go, I’ll be there in a few seconds,” Bucky called from the kitchen, and he opened up the cupboard, getting down the neatly wrapped sketchbook.

When he walked into the living room, he saw Steve setting the glasses down on the end table. Bucky went over to him, and said, “Hey.” Steve straightened, and Bucky held out the wrapped sketchbook. “I got you something.”

“You didn’t have to, Buck,” Steve said, already opening it.

“I did.”

Steve’s eyebrows went together when he saw the sketchbook. “Buck, uh, I don’t mean to be-”

“Open it.”

Bucky watched as Steve opened the sketchbook, and flipped through it. His hands still instantly when he got to the first page that had been torn out. “Buck,” Steve whispered. “Where did you find these?” Page after page of the drawings Steve thought Bucky’s father had ripped out of the sketchbook were back in it, and he couldn’t quite believe it. “I thought… I thought your dad had destroyed these.”

“No, I… I tore them out and hid them. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let him do that.”

“Buck,” Steve breathed out, flipping through the pages. There was one drawing, unfinished, and Steve knew it had been the last one – the one where Bucky had been sliding his underwear down to the floor.

Steve set the sketchbook down, and he kissed Bucky.

Bucky realized, suddenly, that this was almost a repeat of that first kiss, before they’d left the guest rooms in the palace.

It had the same intensity, the same desire, and then, he pulled back. Steve’s eyes glittered in the low light, and Bucky asked, softly, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Steve replied, just as soft, and Bucky pulled Steve in for another kiss.

Steve led Bucky to their bedroom, and he took a step back from Bucky, going for the buttons of his shirt.

“Wait, Steve,” Bucky said, moving closer. “Let me.”

Steve swallowed hard as Bucky’s fingers undid the buttons of his shirt. He could feel himself getting more turned on by the second – how was this the hottest thing he’d ever experienced?

Bucky backed Steve up against the bed, and then, Steve felt Bucky’s fingers against the waist of his pants, pulling them open, unzipping them, and pushing them down around his thighs. Steve wasn’t surprised that he was hard, but it was still a new sensation, because _Bucky_ was turning him on.

And suddenly, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, Bucky was between his legs, and Steve swallowed hard at the sight.

Bucky pressed kisses to Steve’s thighs, and Steve brushed back the hair that had fallen across Bucky’s face – he wanted to see every second of this. Steve knew what would come next, but despite the words rolling around in the back of his head, he realized he didn’t care.

He didn’t care, because he _loved_ Bucky.

He’d been struggling for decades to put a label on what he felt for his best friend, because he wasn’t queer, he wasn’t like that. But now, all he could think of was how Bucky looked, looking up at him with his eyes dark, the _want_ written all over his face.

Bucky’s mouth was wet, and Steve couldn’t help how his hips suddenly jerked a little. Bucky made a soft noise, and Steve said, “Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Bucky pulled back, his lips spit-slick and so, so red.

“It’s fine,” Bucky said, his voice a little rough. “You’re excited,” he added, and Steve flushed a pretty shade of pink. “You want this?”

Steve stilled for a second.

Bucky was asking for clarification – did he want this?

Did he want Bucky like this, his lips around his cock, red and shiny with spit and precome?

Steve had to admit, it was a good look for Bucky.

“Want you,” Steve finally replied, and Bucky pulled him down for a kiss. It was hot, dirty, and Steve could taste himself on Bucky’s tongue. It was almost too good. Bucky broke the kiss and Steve wrapped a hand into Bucky’s hair when Bucky licked down his cock.

Bucky slipped loose fingers around the base of Steve’s cock, squeezing just a little, and Steve watched as Bucky’s tongue darted out. Steve’s brain short-circuited when Bucky tongued at the tip of his cock, and he gripped Bucky’s hair tighter, a noise escaping him.

“Ah, ah, Buck, oh, god,” Steve gasped, and he felt Bucky hum a little, taking him back into his mouth.

Steve wasn’t entirely sure how it happened so quickly, but suddenly, he was coming, Bucky moaning and whining a little when it hit his throat. Steve watched as Bucky pulled away, and it should’ve been obscene, how Bucky looked then, but it _wasn’t_.

Why hadn’t they done this sooner?

“You okay?”

Bucky’s voice jolted Steve back to the present, and he smiled down at Bucky. “Yeah, I’m good,” Steve replied, and he was almost embarrassed at how the sight of Bucky now was getting him hard all over again. “I… I, uh, don’t…”

Steve watched as Bucky pressed kisses to his thighs, nuzzling up against Steve’s already hard cock.

“Buck,” he whispered, spreading his legs a little. Bucky looked up at him, and said,

“Want this in me.”

Steve knew what his response to that was. He watched as Bucky stood on shaky legs, undoing his belt and pants, and Steve couldn’t believe the thought that popped into his head.

_Wanna taste you._

Steve was shocked by the thought – he’d never thought about what Bucky would taste like, especially not his cock. But now, more than anything, Steve wanted to sink his mouth over Bucky’s cock and just _taste_ him. He stood, shoving his pants all the way off, pulling his shirt off over his head and flinging it down onto the floor, watching as Bucky’s hands stilled for a moment.

Bucky had barely gotten his pants and underwear over his hips, and he was startled as Steve walked towards him. “Steve?”

Steve sunk down to his knees, and Bucky couldn’t help the noise that left his throat.

“Wanna taste you,” Steve whispered, his hands on Bucky’s lower back. Steve hooked his fingers over the layers of clothes and pulled them down, watching, enraptured, as Bucky’s cock, hard and already leaking, sprang free from his pants.

The sudden words at the back of his head surged forward, and Steve stamped them down with the first flick of his tongue against Bucky’s cock.

Bucky tasted bitter and salty and so, _so_ good.

Bucky grasped his hair and the pull of it was _just_ on the side of pleasure, and Steve took Bucky deep, Bucky moaning above him. Steve was sure that Bucky was about to come when Bucky pulled him away, and he looked up at Bucky, confused.

Had he done something wrong?

Then, Bucky pulled him up to his feet. “Don’t wanna come just yet.” Steve realized, belatedly, that Bucky wanted more, and Steve couldn’t stifle the desire running through him.

Steve backed Bucky up against the foot of the bed, and he pushed Bucky backwards. It was different, seeing Bucky like this, but Steve didn’t care anymore. Bucky was _his_ , and he didn’t want to drag this out any longer than was necessary.

He went to the nightstand, got out the bottle of lube he’d gotten not even a week ago, and the small box of condoms.

As he walked back to the bed, Steve couldn’t help but watch as Bucky sat down on the bed, his fingers coiled tightly around the base of his cock, attempting to stave off his orgasm. And he was making the softest sounds, little moans and grunts that seemed to go right to Steve’s cock.

It was hard to think of anything except for the thought in Steve’s head of, _want him so bad, right now._

How had anyone thought this was wrong?

“What’s goin’ on in your head?” Bucky asked, softly, and Steve offered him a smile.

“Nothing, just… how gorgeous you look.”

“You were always a shitty liar,” Bucky replied, and Steve shrugged. “So what is it, really?”

“Let’s talk later, okay?” Steve moved Bucky up the bed, and he couldn’t help but notice that Bucky’s legs immediately fell open. Bucky’s hand was still firmly grasped around the base of his cock, squeezing a little when his orgasm was too close for comfort.

Steve lifted Bucky’s hips a little, settling him on his legs, and he ran his nails over Bucky’s thighs. He’d barely even pressed a finger up against Bucky’s hole when he felt the hard end of what he hoped was the plug he’d found while getting dressed this morning.

“Did you… did you get yourself ready for this?”

“What can I say, I had high hopes,” Bucky replied. Steve gave the plug an experimental tap, and Bucky jolted in surprise. “S-St-eve,” Bucky gasped, and then, Steve grinned.

“Think you’re ready for me?”

“Steve, oh god, _Steve_ ,” Bucky moaned as Steve ran his fingers around the rim of the plug. “Please, just… _please_.”

Steve finally pulled the plug from Bucky, watching as it slipped out.

He tossed it to the side, and grabbed the box of condoms.

Opening one of the packets, he rolled it on, and then, he grabbed the lube, uncapping it and squeezing some out onto his fingers.

He pressed a finger into Bucky, wondering just how ready he was.

Bucky huffed, and impatiently said, “Just _fuck me_ , Stevie.”

“Alright, alright, hang on,” Steve replied, coating his cock in lube.

Steve didn’t know how this was going to feel, not really, but somehow, Bucky was _still so tight_ around him, pressing back on Steve’s cock, his words making no sense.

And suddenly, it was over.

Bucky was coming, hard and fast, his come splattering up against his stomach as Steve’s thrusts drove him up the bed. Steve slowed down a little, and then, Bucky reached out and grabbed at Steve’s wrist. “Don’t you dare slow down.”

Steve fucked Bucky hard and fast, until he felt his orgasm about to hit.

He pulled out, and, pulling the condom off, he fisted his cock until he came on Bucky’s stomach.

Bucky watched Steve through half-lidded eyes, and when Steve had finally finished, Bucky pulled Steve down to him, kissing him. They stayed like that for a while, until Bucky said,

“I need a shower.”

Steve looked down at Bucky’s middle, at the come that was still there, and he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I think we both do.”

They finally got up, going to the bathroom, and Steve couldn’t help but watch Bucky as he walked to the shower.

This was all he’d ever wanted.

And for the first time in a long while, Steve felt like he was finally at peace.

Bucky paused in the doorway, turning to look back at Steve. Steve watched as Bucky smiled at him, slyly, coaxing him closer. Then, just like that, he was through the door, and the light in the bathroom came on. Steve walked into the bathroom, the shower already on and steaming up the room. Bucky pulled him close, kissing him deeply, his hands sliding down Steve’s back.

Steve trailed his lips down to Bucky’s neck, nipping at him a little.

He glanced over at the mirror, and he sucked a kiss into Bucky’s skin. Steve hadn’t seen anything quite like it, and he couldn’t help but notice just how perfectly they were made for each other.

Steve supposed they’d always been made for each other, even when he’d been skinny and Bucky had been a foot taller than him.

Bucky met his gaze in the mirror, and without a single word, Steve shut the door to the bathroom, and Bucky was pulling him along, his one hand steadying them as he felt along the wall with the other for the shower door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When my beta reader got to this chapter, she said, "You'll have people jacking off at the sex scene," and honestly I've never gotten a better compliment.


	9. Chapter 9

Tony watched as Steve hit the punching bag over and over again, his punches carrying no finesse.

He’d only seen Steve like this once before, and it was startling to watch when it wasn’t directed at him. Steve looked like he didn’t care, like he just wanted to deal out the most damage he could. The bag fell from one particularly vicious punch, and Tony watched as Steve went to his knees and _cried_.

In between harsh sobs, Tony could hear Steve saying something, over and over again.

He took a few steps closer, and he finally understood what Steve was saying.

“Is this a test?”

Tony watched as Steve’s whole body shook with each sob, the sound like nothing he’d ever heard. Tony closed the distance between them, and he saw Steve look up at him.

“Why him? Why did Thanos have to take him?”

Tony was at a loss.

He’d always thought that his father’s story of how Captain America had carried on back in 1943 after Sergeant Barnes’ death was about not letting those things get to him.

Tony wondered now how much of his father’s story was true.

He wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, anchoring him close as he cried. “Steve,” Tony started, “let’s get you up.”

Tony half-carried Steve to the back elevator, figuring the one at the front might not be the best choice. It would be too busy, people would see, and right now, they needed Steve to be a steady figure.

Tony took Steve to his room in the compound, and he walked Steve right to the bed. “Alright, there you go. Get some rest,” Tony whispered, and he wasn’t even to the door when Steve said softly,

“Why him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Thanos should have taken me.” Steve sounded defeated. “I don’t want to live in a world without Bucky,” Steve said, soft and broken, and Tony stopped dead, his heart going up into his throat.

He was taken back to when Steve had almost killed him.

Steve would’ve given his own life to save Bucky in those moments.

Tony walked back towards Steve, and stood in front of him. Steve’s hands balled up the back of Tony’s shirt, and Tony let Steve cry into his shirt. Tony combed his fingers through Steve’s hair, and he looked across the room, out the windows.

Steve eventually stopped crying, and Tony was about to leave when he realized Steve wasn’t letting him go, not at all. Steve took a deep breath, exhaling shakily. “Don’t go.”

When Tony woke up, he glanced around the unfamiliar space.

He almost jumped out of the bed when he saw Steve sleeping next to him.

Right, nothing had happened.

Nothing.

Steve didn’t wake up when Tony got out of the bed. Tony walked out into common room, and got a glass of water and instantly regretted it. He needed something stronger. Tony drank the water first, and when he stood back in the doorway, he’d had a glass of Vodka.

He watched as Steve slept, and he asked himself, would it be so wrong to go back to sleep in Steve’s bed?

When Tony woke up again, he didn’t know if he should be surprised or not that Steve’s arm was wrapped around him, almost protectively. He’d moved to resettle on the bed when he saw Steve’s eyes open, and he pulled away from Tony like he’d been burned.

“Tony? What are you doing here?”

“You don’t remember last night, do you,” Tony said, quietly, and Steve blinked a few times. “You were a wreck. I brought you up here and you asked me to stay. That’s all.”

Steve got out of bed, and Tony watched as he walked to the bathroom. The door shut behind him, and Tony sat up in the bed. He looked around the room, and saw a box in the corner. He’d had some of Steve’s things brought over from Wakanda, and he wondered why Steve hadn’t unpacked them yet.

He looked over his shoulder, and got out of bed, walking to the box and opening it.

It hadn’t been gone through, and Tony shut the box quickly when he saw the thing at the bottom of it. A plug was sitting there, like a red flag that Tony shouldn’t have opened the box. He looked over his shoulder, at the bathroom door, before closing the box and pretending like he hadn’t seen anything.

But when Steve exited the bathroom, looking a little better than he had only a few minutes ago, all Tony could see in his head was the image of Steve with that thing inside him. Tony bolted from the room, rushing down the hallway to the elevator.

-o-

“Sorry I’m late,” Steve said softly, sliding down into one of the chairs.

Tony glanced over at Steve. He’d shaved, he’d cut his hair, and was all in all looking much better than he did the night before.

“It’s fine. We were just discussing how to proceed. We’ve contacted all our available resources, so we’ll be expecting, hopefully, more people here within the next few days.” Secretary Ross glanced around the room, and then, looked right at Steve. “In light of the recent attack on Earth by Thanos, the United Nations has decided it is in the best interests of safety to temporarily suspend the Sokovia Accords.”

Steve looked down at the table, and he clenched his jaw. Tony saw the rage boiling under his skin, and he cautioned, “Steve, don’t say anything you’ll regret.”

“Like what, Tony,” Steve said, his voice flat. “My best friend was almost killed because of these Accords. And now because there’s something more dangerous than any of us, you’ve decided to suspend them.”

“Steve,” Tony said, quietly.

“Captain Rogers, don’t make me eject you from this meeting. Your insight is needed, now more than ever.”

Steve looked away, finding that he was wishing that Peggy was still alive – she would know what to do. She would say all the right things, and the world would be whole again.

Tony watched as Steve kept his head down the rest of the meeting, only contributing when he was needed, and Tony wished that Steve would just shout at Ross. He wanted more than anything to have that smug asshole put in his place.

It was long after the meeting that Tony found Steve on one of the lower levels, a sketchbook in his lap, his pencil flying over the page. Tony watched in silence as Steve drew, the portrait jumping off the page like it was a photograph.

Steve felt eyes on him, and he stopped drawing for a moment.

“Tony, what are you doing here?”

“Look, Steve, I… I’m sorry about the meeting. I had no idea they were going to suspend the Accords.”

“But you knew it _could_ happen.” Steve went back to his drawing. Tony went to sit next to him, and Steve paused for the briefest second. “What do you want?”

“Just… to sit. For a while.”

Steve exhaled heavily, and he looked over at Tony. “Okay.”

And they sat there for a long while, Tony watching Steve draw, and Steve covering every page with drawings of Bucky. Tony wondered just what Bucky meant to Steve, and he didn’t realize he’d said it out loud until Steve said, softly,

“I loved him.”

Tony looked over at Steve. “Wasn’t that taboo, back when you grew up?”

“Yeah, it was. Bucky’s dad threw me out of the house once. I’d just dared to draw Bucky in only his underwear, and… he walked in. Called me a queer and threw me out of the house.” Steve’s pencil stilled on the page, and he took a shaky breath. “The second he moved out, got his own place in Brooklyn, he told me that I could move in with him.”

Steve flipped to a new page.

This time, Tony saw that he was drawing two figures, one small, one bigger, the bigger one dipping their head down for a kiss.

“Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t much better, but we got by. We didn’t have anyone to tell us we couldn’t do what we wanted to.” Tony watched as Steve set down his pencil. “I’d give anything to go back to that moment and just… tell him everything.”

“What would you say?”

Steve stared out the windows, and he breathed out heavily.

“That I love him, even if everyone says it’s wrong, because one day, it won’t be.”


	10. Epilogue

_Brooklyn, New York  
_ _March 9, 2021, 1:49 AM_

Steve woke up in a sweat.

He sat up in bed, and looked over at the other side of the bed. Bucky slept there, peacefully, a small smile on his face as he dreamed.

It was still dark out, and Steve looked over at the clock. _1:49 AM_. He pushed the covers back, getting out of bed and padding down the hallway, going up the stairs to his studio.

Thanos was a thing in the past now.

He didn’t have to worry about anyone else taking Bucky from him.

Steve knew that Adam had told him – not even a week ago – to write his past-self letters whenever he felt like he was on his way to hitting bottom again. Steve walked through the doorway to his studio, and went over to the desk in the one corner. Turning on the desk lamp, Steve got out a pad of paper and a pen.

He knew he could very well just use the laptop Tony had given him, but something about the familiarity of pen on paper was soothing.

Steve began to write, and with each word, he felt the weight lift off his chest.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice was soft as he crossed the room. “What are you doing up?”

“Bad dream,” he replied, and he set the pen down. “What time is it?”

“Almost three. You coming to bed soon?”

“Yeah, I was just…” Steve looked down at the letter, and Bucky smiled a little.

“Doing what Adam told you?” When Steve nodded, Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s neck. “Why don’t we go back to bed? I can think of something we could be doing that’s a lot better.” Steve couldn’t help the noise that left him when Bucky’s hand palmed across his sweats.

“Buck, hang on, let me just-”

Steve scribbled out one last line, signed the letter, and Bucky snorted a laugh. “Really? ‘Thanos is a dick. Bazooka to the head, you’ll thank me later’?”

“Being honest.”

“Hang on, let me,” Bucky grabbed the pen, and wrote his own note, and Steve read it over.

“‘Shoot him in the balls first’?” Steve turned to kiss Bucky. “Now who’s being too much?”

“Shut up,” Bucky whispered against Steve’s lips, “and let’s go to bed.”

Steve grinned against Bucky’s lips, pulling him in a little closer.

They never quite made it to the bed.

 

FIN


End file.
